Song of Fire and Ice
In the Wandering Plains, where vast wastelands encircled only scattered desert cities, the way to enjoy ice-cold beer was to visit the Brass Goblet of the Parched Wastelands. A bar crafted from sturdy oak, stocked with fine liquors collected from every corner of the continent. And cozy lodging to welcome weary adventurers. It was worthy of being called the city's landmark.
Naturally, the bartender was a veteran who'd dealt with countless brawlers in this lawless frontier. That's why he handled the self-proclaimed rogues of the Wandering Plains—many of whom might've been criminals—with professional ease.
"It's the boss's orders!"
"Let's smash that pretty face to bits!"
"I'll give you credit for balls as a man... but I'll make you crawl out on all fours!!"
Mercenaries with rough, menacing faces chuckled as they lurched to their feet. They didn't draw their blades. They wanted to tear into that delicate face with their bare hands. These brutal thugs stepped forward, encircling the young noble from the Holy Empire so he couldn't escape.
"Gah! You bastard!"
Kailun grabbed a heavy glass bottle and smashed it into a mercenary's face. Crash! Whiskey spilled amid a shower of shards. Then he drove his fist into the mercenary's clutching, agonized mug.
"Fuck...! You really a noble?!"
"Fights like some back-alley thug!"
"If that punk's a Holy Empire noble, then I'm the Holy Sovereign himself!"
Kailun leaped onto the central poker table and kicked their faces one by one. He even snatched a brass candlestick from the counter and cracked one on the crown of his head. Impressive brawling skills. Agile moves paired with ruthless precision, no hesitation whatsoever.
"If he'd stupidly drawn his sword, they'd have mobbed him first... All these obstacles blocking movement. As expected of a vet who's handled the Holy Empire's dirtiest jobs for years on end."
"Grrrh! The tables and chairs...! I just bought 'em a few days ago!"
"Don't take it too hard, bartender. I'll cover all the busted furniture. Not me personally—the White-Haired Witch of the Frostlands will. Her vice captain's the one gleefully wrecking the place, so she'll pay up."
"......"
To a swordsman, the bar—littered with all sorts of furniture—was practically treacherous terrain. Swing a sword carelessly, and it'd snag on pillars or tables. The cluttered obstacles fouled any clear sword path. That's why Kailun kept his blade sheathed. It was enough. He could subdue them without drawing steel.
Proving it, the Holy Empire noble deftly blended street fighting and grappling, dropping the mercenaries who'd prided themselves on taking on ten men at once.
The beauty with cascading red hair watched the carnage with a satisfied smile. Kailun's noble origins paired with his brawling prowess was plenty to captivate Frederica, a mercenary herself.
"Bwahah! Bwahahaha—!!"
Splash, splash. Kailun poured whiskey over the ugly mug of a mercenary sprawled on the floor. Frederica clutched her belly and burst into roaring laughter at the sight.
Tables flipped upside down. Chairs thoroughly smashed. Glass bottles shattering in a chain reaction like dominoes. The bar—a famed landmark of the Wandering Plains—lay in ruins like it'd been shelled by artillery.
The bartender stared at Kailun and the scattered mercenaries, his heart bleeding tears.
"Fine. You win."
"Understood."
Frederica offered a glass sloshing with vodka. Kailun nodded, hefting a 350-pound oak barrel like it was nothing, and called off the fight. The mercenaries, nearly crushed under its weight, exhaled sighs of relief with wide-eyed shock.
He claimed the victor's toast. Gulp. Gulp. Downed the vodka in one go. Fierce burn chased by crisp refreshment quenched his thirst.
"Chugging it like that—pure hard-boiled. Fits a merc to a T."
"Your Excellency Frederica knows nothing about booze. Who the hell drinks vodka on the rocks?"
"Misunderstanding! I can hold my liquor just fine!"
"......"
The Mercenary King who couldn't handle alcohol. Busted. Her shameful secret exposed. Frederica flushed beet red and protested.
"Ahem! Where'd you learn to fight like that? The refined Holy Empire might teach grappling, but surely not street brawling to its troops."
"Picked it up killing enemies hand-to-hand in the trenches."
"Mark my words—you're born for mercenary work. Why not switch now? I'll offer top terms and treatment under the Wynder Mercenaries. And we'll lead all our bands to burn the Holy Empire to the ground."
"A most gracious offer."
She'd guarantee success and security. And aid his revenge on the Holy Empire. Frederica raised her glass of sparkling soda water, her proposal spot-on for Kailun's aims and ambitions, true to her bold personality.
"But I'm Vice Captain serving Lady Leonora. I only came to request joint operations from Your Excellency Frederica... No intent to join the Mercenary King's command."
Kailun's golden eyes flicked outward. Frederica's followed suit.
Creeeak. Rusted metal groaned. The bar's battered swing door swung open.
"A truly praiseworthy answer, well-deserved of acclaim, Vice Captain."
The Ice Executioner of the Frostlands, silver hair flowing, entered draped in a black wolf mantle. The Red Mercenary King scowled openly, displeased.
Judges of the War Council—holders of the Eisenreich Colonial Empire's independent military authority—leaned toward isolationism, shunning alliances unless their territory faced direct invasion. Rarely did they collaborate.
Leonora Elua Edelgard. Frederica Baltaria Wynder. Now two Judges sat together. The bartender, forced to watch his thriving bar reduced to rubble by mercenary fisticuffs, trembled in despair.
Kailun stepped in to host Leonora and Frederica in the poor bartender's stead.
"The Vice Captain commands a 200-man detachment. The Valtenstein Detachment—all Holy Empire natives—is set to shine in the coming war."
"Northerners are so stingy and narrow-minded! Handing him just a tiny squad? If he were under me, I'd give him ten times the men."
He served Leonora a martini, Frederica a lemonade. Maybe from all the yelling? Or the parched air of the Wandering Wastes? Both drained their glasses the moment they got them.
"As the one who first proposed this war... may I brief Lady Leonora and Lady Frederica on the plan to annihilate the Holy Empire's front lines?"
He pitched it to the stunning Judges from the bartender's spot.
"Of course. Speak your piece."
"As a former Holy Empire war hero... you must know their weaknesses."
Nothing beats knowing your enemy and yourself in war. The Eisenreich commanders Leonora and Frederica listened intently, granting the Holy Empire defector the floor.
"Theodor Holy Empire's main force is the knight orders of the central army, boasting unmatched breakthrough power. If Your Excellencies grant the chance, I'd lead as vanguard and face the Holy Empire's knights."
"Hmm... Taking on knight orders needs at least five times the numbers. Central army knights? Even more. I don't doubt your skill or loyalty, but commanding an army solo brings heavy challenges, no?"
"No need for such vast forces. A thousand men suffice."
"What?"
It sounded like empty bravado, of course. How could it not? Armor nullifying spells. Lances and longswords shredding steel plate. Warhorses boosted by endurance and acceleration magic, exploding with speed and penetration. The Holy Empire's knights were invincible.
Leonora and Frederica's faces showed clear bewilderment at his bold claim of a way to rout the empire's strongest unit.